


Best Friends Since

by necronism



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 20:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12490188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necronism/pseuds/necronism
Summary: Before Robert Bradley was a friend to Ephraim Goodweather, he was a stranger; a mysterious man who showed up to pull him out of a native jail and back to the United States. Why was this man so generous, so protective? What did he see in Ephraim that no one else did?





	Best Friends Since

Robert Bradley's home opened up immediately from the front door, walls sweeping either way and a staircase curling to the next floor directly ahead. There was the scent of something burning now snuffed out, perhaps a candle extinguished by the rush of cold air as the front doors were both opened at the same time. Snow drifted in around their legs and onto the tile, immediately melting to droplets as the warmth of the home greeted all. Ephraim Goodweather was still in a bit of a shaken state, the hand on his back perhaps the only thing holding him upright at the moment. His cheeks were pink, nose red, and he gave a sniff as he now stepped further into the house.

Once he cleared the doorway, Robert (or "Rob" as he had introduced himself not a week before) turned and shut both doors behind them. They reached from floor to ceiling, meeting in a graceful arc and giving a groan and heavy clack as they were forced together; like two cathedral doors, Eph thought. This home was regal on the inside but not much of a looking outside, reflecting the curb appeal of the neighbor on either side, with sloped driveways and mailboxes to match. Rob's black Honda Accord was the only offset to the framed network of mansions, a defect against the sheets of white.

Everyone else in the neighborhood, Rob had explained, usually kept these D.C. homes for consideration during the summer or if Florida was suddenly met with a hurricane. Relatively abandoned, the neighborhood has given off the vibe of a ghost town, with Rob and Eph the only two smart enough to seek shelter within it.

The patterned footfalls of Rob leaving to go to the next room left Eph hypnotized by the noise. As the warmth gripped him, seeped through his damp coat and bare, reddened hands, he began to wonder where he would be at this very moment had fate not extended a helping hand. Somewhere between this world and the next, Rob told his guest he could take off his shoes and find a room to sleep in whenever he needed to crash. But Eph had hardly heard him, staring dizzyingly up at those stairs.

"Alright," he croaked. His throat was dry, voice hoarse as if he hadn't spoken in years, and the simple invitation of hospitality and jump-started his faith in humanity. From the corner of his eye, Eph saw Rob peek back around from a sectioned wall, broken into two archways.

"He-llo? Ephraim?" The even footfalls returned and Rob was soon right next to him, placing a hand on Eph's shoulder. "I know it was a hell of a trip back into the country and we didn't have much time to get acquainted, but I'm pretty sure I know your limit."

If Rob was referring to how many drinks Eph had knocked back on the flight from Kinshasa to Washington D.C., along with every stop in between, then no, the man had no idea. The alcohol had been an immediate craving the second the plane was in the air. A flight over twenty hours had Eph racking up a lap full of small glass bottles and crushed cups stuffed between the chairs. Having spared himself the agony of hangovers with very important work at hand, Eph had committed himself to the dry slums along the Congo. It was punishment enough go be sober in a crisis, but something else entirely to be hauled away by the military and thrown into a cell that would put a crawlspace to shame.

"I'm fine," Eph said, evening out his posture and setting down his bag. There was a week's worth of clothes, a toothbrush, his passport and all his government credentials. There was also the heavy sensation that he was stuck, or that a part of his life had both ended and restarted in the air over the Atlantic Ocean. One moment he was closing his eyes over an empty shot of vodka, the next he was being jostled awake by Robert Bradley because their plane had landed in Austin and they needed to catch their connecting flight in twenty minutes. The rush had sobered him but he had slept on the next plane out, only to be awakened again some odd hours later.

This was the landing that would follow to the arrival where the two stood now, staring blankly at one another. The clocks read 2:57AM and the sky was pitch black out. The sky was clouded but the street lamps made the snowy, unshoveled sidewalks glow, illuminating the crystalline yard. The walk to the front door had been confusing, a still very drunk Ephraim Goodweather questioning why the sun was up at such a late hour, that he should be getting home but this wasn't his home.

If was the infantile complaining from the flight and following that persuaded Rob to be his very shoulder to lean on. While his touch was sympathetic, his expression was stern. That of a close friend, as they had become over the six days they remained attached at the hip in Kinshasa.

Right now, Eph realized he was staring at Rob's hand on his shoulder. His dislike for being touch had been expressed the moment the ville MTF attempted to arrest him. While he was not a physically violent man, the hatred that burned in his eyes for those officers left a beast caged. This touch was different. The chaos and confusion, through all of that, this stranger had saved his life and his muffled "thank you" only surfaced about four whiskeys in... These thoughts shoved aside, he shrugged Rob off and turned away to the stairs.

Gravity was an ordeal, but Rob kept an eye on the man as he ascended and disappeared into the bearing darkness of the landing beyond. Eph was appreciative, but at the moment he was drunk and on the verge of blacking out. The first bedroom he found, he collapsed on the bed and let his carry-on fall to the floor with a thump. Eph had enough strength to turn his face to the side to avoid suffocation before he completely lost sight of the room.

◾

Why Robert Bradley had rescued Ephraim Goodweather, let alone found him and fought for his case, was unclear. It was his business to keep an eye on the divisions in Africa that summer, especially with the crime rate inflating generously under the influence of an unforgiving sun. Crime in the city was no different than in the slums, but because the ville had such an issue with white Americans being flown in with their usual Parisians, extra precaution had been set with Goodweather and his team.

Médecins Sans Frontières, also known as MSF, or "Doctors Without Borders" in English, required as much help as they could get at the time. Working around the clock in cities and communes dotted across Africa to try and aide in countless of outbreaks, there were only so many helping hands within the organization itself. That was where Ephraim Goodweather had come in, an immediate blip on the radar to supervising American personnel. To come right out and say he was VIP to the United States and their authority over very little in the Congo is belittling.

Almost a month into the effort since Doctor Goodweather's arrival, the forces surrounding the ville were growing impatient. What results they may have been expecting weren't coming soon enough, or perhaps they were antsy and getting sick of the America's worn out French. Perhaps a rumor had spread out of jealousy, boredom, hatred, whatever, but whichever it had been, not a month into the expedition, Ephraim Goodweather was arrested as an American spy, part of an operation sent to infiltrate their banded military.

While these accusations were wild to say the least, no amount of pleading or providing his identification helped him out of the tiny cell. He was left there, further from vice that could calm his trembling hands and running mouth. His manners were far and few between with the guards who could old shove him from the bars with the butt of their rifles. Ephraim fantasized about escaping, about being like Steve McQueen and riding a bike the hell outta there. He fantasized about getting back into America and quitting his job, claiming about how he had nearly put his life on the line for a belligerent military-choked city and been caged like a rat.

On the fourth day of his imprisonment, fatigued by a poor diet and little water provided for him, a argument erupted from outside his cell. Ephraim couldn't be bothered to roll over in his cot and find out what was going on, until a shadow passed over him. He tilted his head back, running a hand through his hair.

"Your boss is here to collect you, Mister Goodweather." The tone in the guard's voice reflected defeat. This made Eph roll off and stand up, meeting the shadow face to face.

The man outside of the cell was about the same height as how Ephraim held himself. The guards had let him past, reluctant as they were once had had shown them identification (that would never actually be shown to Eph).

Straight-backed and shoulders even, the man held authority over the rest of the room. His black hair was cut short but fell into a pattern that suggested naturally wavy. His thick eyebrows were obviously groomed or naturally perfect, furrowed the moment he realized the state Ephraim had been kept in. The man, despite the disgusted look on his face, was naturally handsome, the type of agent you'd let into your house for any interrogation necessary.

Ephraim found himself staring. This wasn't his boss. This man was, in reality, a perfect stranger. He opened his mouth to protest, but the flick of the man's eyes suggested he keep his mouth shut and go along with whatever this act was. They didn't speak a word to one another, even when Eph was handed his belongings and led out if the defunct police station. In the sun, the man put on sunglasses, offering a pair to Eph. Stunned by this small act of grandeur, he took them. Squinting against the sun he studied this man's face.

"I'm sorry it took so long for anyone to retrieve you," the man said, further introducing himself as Robert Bradley. For the most part, Ephraim was confused. Over breakfast, Robert explained the situation, his keeping an eye on the "Goodweather Gang" and ensuring their safety within the Congo's most violent and crime-ridden city. They weren't comforting words, but over waffles and coffee after four days without anything remotely close, Eph wasn't really bothered.

Later, he would ask which department Robert Bradley may have come from, how he had gotten Eph out of that jail so quickly, how he got them into buildings without having to do much, how he was able to influence the task force around the Congo to help with the erecting of the clinic for MSF during the following week. Once this job was over, Eph happily stayed in the hotels near the airport with Robert, drinking and talking and explaining the situation as best he could.

"They thought I was a spy," Eph would repeat until the words held little meaning. They would both laugh and clink glasses together, Robert always hesitating before he knocked his drink back. While Eph had some moral standards to living it up while others struggled in poverty, with this expedition over, he gladly retired to a clean bed and to be greeted with breakfast the next morning before their flight.

That flight had been nerve-wracking, the reality if the trip settling in. When, and if, he got back to work, how was he to explain the situation with his arrest and mysterious release? How was he going to explain his mysterious friend that had little to nothing to say about himself? It was why he had drank so much, why he had remained silent at Robert's side and why he had tried to knock himself out as quickly as possible upon arriving back into the United States.

**Author's Note:**

> (Here's another fic I don't know if I'll ever actually finish, and I apologize for that!)


End file.
